


Relationships for Dummies

by ren_makoto



Series: Relationships for Dummies [1]
Category: Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-14 06:58:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5733943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ren_makoto/pseuds/ren_makoto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Squall and Laguna don't get along, until Fate steps in and shows them how much better (and hotter) things could be between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Atmosphere

 

_A pair of crushed velvet curtains opened onto night._

_Something circled overhead through a sky of the exact same shade. It was Time. And like all personifications of abstract concepts do, Time was frolicking. Little loops here, frilly dives there. How he was enjoying himself! And what a beautiful night!_

_Time spied a charming spot, all green trees and quaint buildings, and felt a tug of air that called to be rolled in. He took a wild, low, dive, gliding at feather-ruffling speeds downwards, and guffawed at his skill._

Woosh...

_The world was mere meters away, and in a bit of daring, Time elected to pull up in a graceful arch._

Woosh...

_His belly drew nearer to the ground..._

_Time misjudged._

Splat.

* * *

It was just another restaurant, like any other. But the part of Laguna's mind still in love with words recorded details like a machine. This was the part of him that wasn't president of a wealthy country and father to a military commander. This was the writer in him, the part that possessed the prose and the poetry.

His fingers were itching for keys to dance across to describe the textured glass windows that gave a glimpse of the night sky, the dim lighting, and even the mellow piano music that drifted through the air to mingle with the smells from the kitchen. The place had--he tasted the word in his mind and found it fitting--yes, atmosphere. Like a scene from a black and white movie with blurry starlets and Tiffany lamps--last minute rescues and long embraces in fields of flowers.

Atmosphere.

It was there in the intimate seating and the muted laughter from the booth just across the way to his left. In the realistic-looking vines crawling the trellis wall beside him on the right. In the deep red of the wine in his crystal glass and the polish on the fork resting by his plate. He could easily imagine himself staying up all night trying to capture a place like this in words. A place that felt warm and inviting, and yet secret, as if the words the diners whispered to one another--their heads bowed low and their faces lit with shy smiles--would stay in the aged wood and the linen napkins, never to be heard again. Laguna was in love with the restaurant, the atmosphere that felt magical and heavy like fine perfume.

Squall didn't give it a second thought.

He didn't notice the piano music, didn't care about the tapers burning sensually before him or the attentive waiter who never let his glass go unfilled.

The young commander of the Garden sat slumped over in his seat, his arms braced on the table. He looked somewhat like a vulture with ennui: too bored to be irritated and too absorbed in himself to care either way. Squall was always about the business of thinking, Laguna realized, and somehow it all got in the way of the business of living.

"Is that your idea of 'casual'?" Laguna asked, trying for the fifteenth time to engage his son in conversation. He had made sure his secretary mentioned that the dress was relaxed when she telephoned Squall. Yet here was Mr. Commander dressed for a war. His shoulders were sharply squared off by his uniform jacket making it look as if he would fall into attention at the drop of a fork. But the effect was ruined by his drooping posture.

Squall spared a glance at his clothing when Laguna waved towards it, but then just shrugged.

"Do you own anything that's _not_ black?" Laguna tried joking for time number sixteen and wasn't surprised when Squall took the question at face value.

"Yes," he said and then returned to vulture mode.

Laguna stifled a sigh and returned to studying the restaurant. From behind him, he heard an enthusiastic "Cheers!" followed by the clinking of fine crystal. Somehow, that made him feel even worse.

Laguna prided himself on thinking positively. He had decided long ago to be at his best when things were at their worst and his philosophy had kept him from falling into despair many a time.

It wasn't faring so well at the moment. Squall was like an immovable black block of ice. Laguna suspected that it wasn't deliberate or malicious; Squall's ambivalence to what seemed like everything was probably so ingrained in the boy that he did it unconsciously. It was odd to think that this was an improvement, that Squall's time with Rinoa had softened him. Yes, Laguna thought wryly, before Rinoa, Squall had been an _impossibly big_ immovable black block of ice. Now he was just your average-sized continental glacier.

By the time he was seventy-five, he'd be a cuddly ice cube.

Yes, before Rinoa, Squall wouldn't have agreed to these dinners at all. He wondered if he should feel grateful.

Today's "dinner with dad"--as Laguna insisted on calling their dinners together--was even worse than last month's. Then Squall had formed a total of four complete sentences. Now Laguna was struggling to make him finish whole words. The trend was unsettling. Next month they would probably sit in silence, staring at their plates as time dragged along. What would they do when there was nothing left to say?

It was a relief when their meals arrived. Laguna dug in with enthusiasm and--once again--was unsurprised to see that Squall even treated food like a deadly enemy from parts unknown. He cut his steak into perfectly even cubes.

"What?" he asked when he caught Laguna staring at him.

"'s nuffin," Laguna answered around a mouthful of potatoes. He swallowed and grinned widely. "But are you eating or performing an amputation?"

Squall let out an irritated puff of air and returned to carefully moving his knife this way and that, making its duet dance with the fork seem like an elaborate ritual.

And that was all they had to say to each other. His question was answered.

The rest of the meal passed in silence. Squall stayed focused on lining up his meal in military-style ranks: meat, carrots, potatoes, _attention!_ Laguna spent the time calling himself a million names that he was sure were true despite being even crueler than the ones that Raine used to call him. But what else could he do? Olive branches and olive branches later and nothing had changed.

They weren't friends, of that Laguna was sure. Friends talked and laughed together and…did _friendly_ things, none of which described his relationship with Squall. And they certainly weren't father and son in any way other than the strictly biological. What they were – he realized sadly – were two strangers, sitting in a booth at a nice restaurant pretending not to be uncomfortable and pretending not to notice that they were both pretending not to be uncomfortable.

Laguna almost slapped his forehead. He had been away from writing too long; even his thoughts needed a good editor.

He wanted to do right, wanted to be a good father or at the very least someone Squall would talk to. Hell, he would settle for being something _more_ to Squall than just the idiot father he'd rather not even have dinner with. Yes, he wanted something more than this, something to make Squall…happy.

He knew he could do it--whatever it was--if given the chance. The trouble was the chance: there were no windows in the wall between them. It was made of more than mere brick or stone or steel. It was a wall built of years and hard feelings and misunderstandings and sheer bad luck.

How could Laguna reach the guarded boy through that? What hurt was that he knew Squall talked to Rinoa. What was the difference with him? How many meals had they shared with Laguna feeling like an imposition, as if Squall would rather be anywhere other than with him? How many hours passed in silence?

Laguna blamed his age and too many years spent alone.

He stabbed angrily at an innocent potato and didn't feel guilty. It had probably done something wrong in a past life. Probably a reincarnated murderer. His thoughts grew darker with each excruciating moment of silence that passed between him and his son. Somehow, this was not how he pictured his life.

But what Laguna could not know was that, far, far away from the atmospheric restaurant he shared with his austere son, Time had decided to be graceful.

And at about the same moment, Laguna heard a sound he never thought he'd hear:

Squall laughed.

Laguna looked up so quickly he felt his neck crick. He wanted to believe the part of his mind that accurately told him that he had never heard Squall laugh before and that he wouldn't recognize it when he did. But the throaty rumble--as smooth as fur and as restrained as the leather gloves usually worn by its owner--could belong to no one else.

But Squall wasn't laughing. He wore an expression of disbelief on his face that mirrored Laguna's. Laguna could only assume that the reason for the look was that Squall recognized the sound of his own laugh and wondered who was responsible since he hadn't been.

He was as silent and humorless as an inmate at his own execution. No, the seductive laugh was coming from their right. From a booth adorned with faux vines crawling over the trellis surrounding it. A booth that had not been there before. A booth that had been a wall not five seconds before.

As one, Laguna and Squall sought the occupants of the booth with curious eyes.

Something went _woosh_ like the sweep of something trying to catch up with itself. Time, it seemed, was flapping furiously against gravity.

Laguna let out a startled croak. He found he was as surprised as he had been when he first discovered the fairies when he had been a much younger man. Only the fairies had tingled pleasantly like a rush of heat on a cold day. This was an entirely different feeling, a heavy, crushing feeling that left his heart thundering.

Time went _woosh_ again and started to panic. Only one other was witness to Time's cross-eyed realization and his last-minute thrusting of a sign into the air that read: "Ah, shit."

_Splat._

And now, in the booth, the impossible was taking place.

_Unlike the other tables in the restaurant, the one at this booth had no tablecloth, but the plates and silverware set atop it were of the same fine quality. The red bench curved around in a C so that at least five people could fit around the smallish round table. But the space was occupied by only two who laughed and smiled as if there was no place else they'd rather be._

_A handsome man with the faintest lines around his mouth and at the corners of his eyes was gesturing wildly, his lips never stopping._

_He was graying slightly, wisps of brown and silver falling loose from his ponytail as he mimicked firing a gun and then ducking with all the enthusiasm of a clown. All his attention was focused towards the young man sitting across from him._

_This young man sat with his shoulders rolled forward and his elbows on the table. He had hair the color of chocolate and lips as pretty as a woman's. He was smiling and every few seconds, the purring laughter floated past his white teeth._

"It's…us," said Laguna once his heart slid from his throat.

He stared disbelievingly at the left side of the table --at himself, at who could be no one else. It made him touch his cheek, curiously seeking out the lines he knew were there. _My god_ , he wondered, _do I really look so old?_ And was Squall really so young? Really so fresh, like a flower in spring? And why was he wearing a color? A silky cream shirt that went well with the smooth expanse of his skin? Where was the black? Where were the buckles and the belts and the _leather?_

The laugher rang out across the restaurant again. It was with sadness that Laguna realized that, apparently, he was much, much funnier when he didn't really exist.

Across the table from him, Squall looked less befuddled than Laguna felt. Surviving Time Compression and countless sorcerers had inured Squall to the strangeness of the world. He had, quite literally, seen his life pass before his eyes. Seeing himself as if looking at a mirror or split in two was just another point to Fate in the mad woman's twisted game. She had played it with Squall so long that he seemed to have lost count and now took things in stride to a degree that Laguna wondered if he was actually a living man or just a puppet.

And funny that Laguna should think of Fate and games, for at that moment, she was very, very busy playing her favorite game. She had seen the mad tumble of Time, and perhaps had made the ground jump until it sat two or three feet higher than usual. But you'd never hear her admit it. Butter wouldn't melt in her mouth.

She stalked forward, smelling the excitement in the air.

But this, Laguna didn't know. He had just found that if he strained his ears, he could make out what the older man was saying.

"… _and that, with a few changes here and there for the sake of the high art of storytelling, is exactly how it happened!"_

" _I don't remember it that way," replied the younger man with a skeptical, indulgent smile._

_Laguna waved this off breezily. "You were too confused from hopping back and forth through time to fully comprehend what was going on. Trust me!"_

" _But a pit full of alligators? I think I would remember that."_

_The older man shook his head and crossed his arms. "No," he said sternly. "It's all that fancy business with the GFs. Your memory is Swiss cheese. You shouldn't rely on it to tell you anything. There was a pit of alligators, a troop of dancing midgets, and an entire romantic love scene that you missed out on."_

_Squall did not look convinced._

" _Ahem," Laguna said, clearing his throat. "There were blindfolds and hot wax involved. All too much for your delicate eyes."_

Back at the table with the slowly shrinking tapers, Laguna and Squall sat in silence and watched the exchange between themselves. Things like this only happened to _his_ family, Laguna decided. Sorceresses, wars, space travel, and spatial/temporal distortions seemed to run in his bloodline. Squall and him sitting together was like a homing beacon for the strange. And now there were four of them all together, which made this lovely restaurant ground zero for mass destruction and chaos.

But Laguna was shocked more by the conversation now, than by the fact that he had obviously cloned himself sometime when he wasn't paying attention. The way the pair sat, relaxed and comfortable, the way they dedicated their full attention to each other and chatted so amicably--Laguna couldn't believe it, but couldn't deny it either: _this_  Laguna and _this_  Squall were…friends.

He was jealous. Of himself. Which meant that the world was really much more twisted than his positive outlook would have him believe.

And then he felt a ripple in the air, a heavy shift that brought his attention back to his double. Fate, like a great vulture, circled around the prone body of Time, scooped it up, and started a waltz. The game had begun, and Fate hated losing…

Laguna felt a lump take up residence in his throat. Perhaps "friends" was putting in lightly.

" _Hot wax?" murmured Squall. His voice suddenly teasing. "Now I know you're lying. I would definitely remember hot wax."_

_And then Laguna tensed._

It took a minute for Laguna to locate the reason for his clone's odd behavior, but when he did he felt the color drain from his face. Underneath the table, that mysteriously cheerful Squall had clutched Laguna's thigh. He had to lean down slightly to stretch his arm across the length of the table below, but he had done it and his hand was moving as if it had a mind of its own.

Laguna's mouth fell open. Both of them.

The real Laguna--as he decided to think of himself from now on--tore his eyes away from what he couldn't believe was happening to stare at his ice prince son. The one in black and leather as it _should_ be, he told himself.

Squall's indifference had finally reached its limit. He was red with embarrassment and his hands fidgeted on the table where they rested. Both of their meals were long forgotten.

_Trying not to draw attention to himself, Laguna whispered, "Squall! We can't…not here. People will--"_

" _Say absolutely nothing," Squall interrupted huskily. His hand slid higher up Laguna's thigh, almost cautiously. "If you're quiet."_

" _You know I can't be."_

" _Too bad. Then tell me about the hot wax. Is this a kink I don't know about?"_

" _Maybe. Want to find out?"_

" _Very much so," Squall whispered._

_Laguna sucked in air harshly through his teeth. Squall's hand had reached the junction of his thighs and was moving, testing._

Across the way, Laguna could imagine that this man who _looked_ like his son but who  _couldn't_ be was pushing the palm of his hand up and down the front of his pants. Or not _his_ pants but the other _his_ pants. It was practically the same thing. It was the principle of the matter.

" _Squall," Laguna gasped. "Oh, what--why…ohhhh."_

_Squall moved closer, sliding around the curved bench until he was breathing in Laguna's ear. "Shhh," he tried, but that only seemed to make Laguna louder._

" _Mmmm…can't. Do that again…"_

" _What, this?"_

_Laguna threw his head back hard._

_Thud._

" _Oww. Yesssss, that!"_

Laguna knew he was blushing. Terribly. But he couldn't stop watching. It was half parts fascination and disbelief that kept his eyes glued on the scene. Across from him, Squall was casting furtive glances around the restaurant. Perhaps he was wondering how it was that no one seemed to _hear_ this. That other Laguna was… _loud._

More than that, why could no one else see this? The tables around him were filled with oblivious diners. They chatted happily about the weather and the meal. Not a one of them seemed to notice the men making out in the booth nearby.

It occurred to Laguna that this show might be for his and Squall's eyes only. For some unfathomable reason, someone had decided to give them front row seats. Laguna wondered what they were supposed to do after it was over. The whole thing was a shock to his system.

He knew that his mouth was hanging open and that his cheeks were as red as the tomatoes in his untouched salad. Laguna was pretty sure he looked like a frightened kid. The other Laguna in that make-believe booth, however, looked like he was about to come in his pants.

" _Kiss me," Laguna demanded and Squall only smirked once before leaning in to do as requested. Laguna moaned against his mouth. "You taste like wine," he said breathily. Then his hands were moving as well, clawing at the creamy shirt Squall wore and finding budded nipples underneath to pinch. Laguna worked one, then switched to the other._

_Squall growled, there was no other word for it. He moved forward, almost pouncing, his mouth moving frantically, as if devouring. Laguna's head went further back, his neck bending under the force of Squall's kiss. The angle of his neck looked almost painful, but he didn't seem to mind. The kiss only intensified. There was a flash of teeth, and shiny, wet tongues battling._

Laguna shifted uneasily in his seat. There was something about the way they kissed. Something off about the rhythm, something not happy ending, roll the credits, movie-perfect. It was inexperienced and--he searched for a word to do this recklessness justice--wanton. Just like in some romance novel. It looked as if they were pouring everything into that kiss and expecting to get something valuable back in return, but that neither one knew quite how to go about it. Their kiss was awkward and shaky. It was beautiful.

He flinched as the other Laguna let out a very low, guttural moan.

If things continued as they were, this could get out of hand very soon. He was very glad that no one else was aware of the scene, but it didn't lesson his mollification that the only one who truly mattered _was_. Laguna covered his eyes briefly. What was he doing? This man that looked like him? Did he not know who Squall was? Did he not _know?_

In answer to his silent question, the other Squall climbed onto Laguna's lap, his knees bent and spread out wide on either side of Laguna's hips.

" _You're too loud," Squall teased._

" _No one's watching," Laguna said, almost as if he was trying to convince himself._

" _Still too loud, dad."_

" _Don't call me that," Laguna replied, chest heaving. "It makes me feel old."_

" _That's not the reason, and you know it."_

" _Shut up and finish what you started," Laguna panted. He was apparently too far gone into lust to be lighthearted. His hand made a b-line for the hem of Squall's slacks and there it disappeared only to reappear as a fist-sized bulge beneath the khaki fabric._

_Squall bit his lip, his head dropping down to Laguna's shoulder. He made little stifled noises against Laguna's neck._

" _No, don't do that. I want to hear you," Laguna said. His hand was moving faster now. The other hand clutched in Squall's hair and lifted his head so Laguna could bring their lips together in a harsh kiss._

_Squall groaned against Laguna's mouth as his hips began to jerk._

Laguna did slap his forehead now. He couldn't stop himself from saying, "How…could I?"

This man _knew_. He _knew_ that Squall was his son, and yet he had his hand wrapped around…doing _that_ …with… _him_.

What was worse was that he was aroused. Laguna was grateful for the tablecloth draping over his lap because the evidence was all too evident.

He giggled a crazed giggle. Yes, he needed an editor.

"It's not real," Squall said quietly. Laguna swung his eyes away from the scene to eye him worriedly. He had been so lost in his thoughts that he had almost forgotten about his son. The one who wasn't humping his hand.

"What?"

"It's not real," Squall repeated. He waved a hand. "That isn't real."

" _Squall!" Laguna cried as his son frantically tore at the button of his pants. Sweat was running down his neck and Squall was breathing harshly through his mouth, his eyes glassy._

"Um…looks pretty real to me," Laguna said, peeking from between his fingers.

"No, it's not real."

This was beginning to sound like denial to Laguna. Like those women in curlers and house slippers on the news who always said that their next-door neighbor, who turned out to be an axe murderer, had always been such a "Nice guy. Never made a sound."

"Squall, not to point out the obvious, but my hand is down your pants and your tongue is down my throat."

Squall shook his head. "This is just a trick of time."

Somewhere, Time raised up a little flag and waved it excitedly in hopes that someone might notice him and help. Fate shook her head and took him into a samba.

Sadly for Time, Squall didn't notice.

"I'm sitting across from you having dinner," he said. "What they're doing isn't really happening." He turned to look at the booth again, his face in profile to Laguna. For just a moment, his expression flickered with something dark. Laguna struggled to understand it, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

Squall, having said his piece, went silent again, keeping his attention on the men stripping each other across the way. The only sounds now were the cheerful, oblivious chatter of the diners around them and the rustle of fabric, the slap of skin against skin and the sound of lips sliding together wetly. Things had gone too far in the booth.

_Squall's fingers shook as he worked at the zipper constraining the other man. But once Laguna was free, Squall stared down at the leaking tip of his father's arousal and the thick vein running along it with eyes that were almost hungry._

_Laguna frantically tore open the fly on Squall's slacks to release him. Squall was as hard as he was, the head of his cock purpling. "Yes," Laguna sighed, not knowing what he meant. Then his hands slid underneath Squall's shirt, fingers gripping his waist. He pulled him forward._

_Slowly, as if he wanted to make it last, Squall pressed his cock against Laguna's. He waited a second, a tiny eternity, and then he moved. It was just a slight roll of his hips, the movement small because of how he was stretched, straddling Laguna's hips, but it was good, like velvet running between his legs and across his stomach._

_The first stroke made Laguna's eyes go unfocused. The second made them close. "More," he sighed._

" _Sure, dad."_

" _Don't call me that. Nng, yes, just like that…"_

_Squall licked at his neck as he said, "I want you--"_

" _Me too," Laguna interrupted. He gasped as Squall sucked on his neck until the skin turned red and purple._

" _Not what I was going to say," Squall said against the bruise.  
_

_Laguna arched his back, his hips lifting off the bench. "Then what?"_

" _I wanted to say that I want you to admit who I am. Admit who you are to me."_

" _Shut up," Laguna said and then made him by kissing him with abandon._

_Squall had to lift up higher onto his knees to keep from falling over with the force of Laguna's thrusts. He wanted more contact, wanted to be naked somewhere where he could feel every inch of Laguna against him._

"This is wrong," Laguna whispered. It was like learning that the world was flat, that the sky was orange and the ocean made of ink. Only it was much worse than all of that. It was finding out that somewhere, part of him was capable of this. Somewhere inside of him was lurking a man who wanted to do these things to Squall, a man who would willingly touch his son like a lover and hide his guilt with denial.

Laguna stole another glance at Squall. He could only guess at what dark thoughts lent themselves to Squall's expression. His jaw was clenched so tightly the bone stuck out dagger-like. Laguna wondered if Squall was disgusted with himself, watching as the other Squall wrapped himself more tightly against his father and worked his hips rhythmically.

Laguna wanted to know what Squall was thinking very, very much.

In the booth, the other Squall's movements became erratic.

_He rode against Laguna's cock for a second longer. Then Squall slumped forward bonelessly. "It's not enough."_

_Laguna understood. He shifted Squall on his lap until his legs splayed even farther apart. It brought Squall's chest closer and it felt like his birthday, having so much of Squall's skin against his. He aligned their erections and then wrapped a long-fingered hand around both of them. "Let's try this," he said and then stroked once._

_Squall cried out "Yes" and almost arched back onto the table behind him. Only the strength of Laguna's hand on his waist kept him upright. Laguna bit his lip so hard it bled. The pressure of his hand and the slick of Squall's sex against his own was what he wanted, what he needed to come. "When we get home," he said on the second stroke, "you'd better fuck me until I can't walk."_

" _I'm fucking you in the limo," Squall said, fingers scrambling on Laguna's shoulders. "On your knees."_

_Laguna moaned. "Make me suck you off first, then fuck me," he said with a smile, knowing the reaction it would have on Squall who started riding into his hand roughly. He never would have thought it, but Squall had a thing for dirty talk._

" _That's a lot of work for one day," Squall said breathlessly._

" _You're young, you can…ahhh…do this all night," Laguna protested, head thrashing from side to side. "You could fuck me all night and still want me in the morning. You have before."_

" _But what about you, old man?"_

_Laguna felt close to the edge now and his grip started to loosen. He sighed when Squall's hand wrapped around his own, squeezing and making the pressure even stronger so that it was almost too much. It was just what he needed. It was like being milked, like being embraced, enveloped, devoured, by heat and lust. By Squall._

" _Nng, ah! Harder! No…problem. I'm old, but tonight…I…just have to lay there…with my legs open…and…let you…ride me…until I-I scream."_

_Squall sunk his teeth into Laguna's neck._

_Laguna's vision shattered; his senses curled in inwards only to explode outward in a rush. He felt lightheaded, pumping rivers of come onto his stomach and Squall's, making their fingers slick with it. He came so loudly his ears rang and his throat hurt. He came until he felt hollow inside._

_He felt like he could sleep for a million years._

" _Laguna, please!" Squall cried, rousing him._

_Laguna was fast, pulling Squall's hand away to replace it with his own and squeeze Squall's cock tightly, stroking it so fast, so hard._

" _Laguna, I'm — I'm…"_

" _Do it, Squall. Come in my hand," Laguna whispered against his son's throat._

_Fate went into a wild twirl, Time looking ill in her arms…_

_She let go._

_Time arched higher, higher into the air._

_Woosh…_

_Splat._

_Squall shuddered silently, choking on a sob as his seed splashed across Laguna's shirt and mixed with the come already drying there. Unconcerned with the mess, he wrapped his arms around Laguna and arched him up into a searing kiss, his tongue diving in immediately to map out every secret place inside even as his hips continued to thrust wildly. Laguna clawed at Squall's back, trying to bring him even closer. It was as if he couldn't understand why there was distance at all, why they weren't one body, joined together. Squall's hands at his back hurt wonderfully._

_Squall stilled with a sigh, his tongue ghosting across his father's mouth. "Laguna," he said, as soft as a prayer._

" _Squall," Laguna answered back._

" _Say it," Squall said, his quiet voice harsh and gentle all at once._

" _Dammit, I love you. Hyne, I love you," Laguna whispered. "You're my son and I love you and I want you and it's wrong. It's all so very wrong."_

_Squall was silent for a time, his fingers twisting around a graying lock of Laguna's hair that had come free of his ponytail. "But you won't stop, will you?" he asked._

_Laguna dug his fingers into the hair at the back of Squall's head. He tugged harshly and Squall almost purred. "Do you want me to?"_

_In answer, Squall's hips rocked spastically against Laguna's once, twice. Then he slid off Laguna's lap to stand beside the booth and dragged Laguna with him._

" _Wha-- Laguna began, but Squall cut him off, his hand sliding to the front of Laguna's pants to cup him. He leaned in and spoke softly into Laguna's ear._

" _You're going to get hard again, you're going to suck me off, I'm going to come down your throat, and then I'm going to fuck you."_

_Laguna looked down at the open flap of Squall's pants and his eyes widened. "Oh, to be young again." He smiled wickedly. "On my knees, right?"_

" _On your knees."_

_Groping, they started to move towards the front of the restaurant. It was awkward with Laguna's thigh wedged in between Squall's legs, but they managed. As they passed, they broke the kiss long enough to catch sight of two men staring at them with expressions equal parts shame, lust, and disbelief._

_Where he lay, bleeding, Time did a funny little flip flop like a dying fish. If one listened, they might hear Fate give a triumphant laugh._

_Laguna cocked his head to the side and stared. The older of the two men was squirming in his seat. The pretty youth in black was stone, quiet and unmovable. Laguna wondered if they even saw each other. Really saw each other in the ways that mattered._

" _Look at them," Squall said, running a hand up Laguna's shirt. "They have no idea, do they?"_

" _None whatsoever. Were we ever--"_

" _Doesn't matter," Squall interrupted. To prove his point, he pulled Laguna's hips flush against his own, his hand cupping Laguna's ass through his slacks._

" _I-I see your point. Now?"_

" _Now."_

_And with that, they started walking, but the nearer they got to the door, the fainter they became until they were nothing but wispy shapes and then nothing at all._

Time tried to crawl back into place. Fate stepped on his foot.

Laguna's hands were shaking. Squall's perfectly diced steak was cold. The ice had melted in his water glass.

When they turned away from the booth, they avoided each other's eyes. Laguna stared at his dinner napkin; Squall stared off into space.

There was a wall to their right again.

Laguna wasn't hungry anymore at all.

Through unspoken agreement, they both stood. Laguna tried to tug his jacket around to hide the bulge in his pants, but was pretty sure it was a lost cause. If Squall had the same problem, he couldn't tell: his jacket came down far enough --to his knees--and zipped in the front. Laguna decided he would now purchase a winter-weight Garden uniform for himself. Just in case.

He gave one last look at the restaurant, realizing he would never write a bit of it down. In fact, he'd never come here again. He would never again hum any of the songs the piano had played this night and it would be awhile before he ate potatoes. Tomatoes were right out.

As befitted his position, a limousine waited for them as they exited the restaurant. Laguna really, really didn't want to get inside. It was all too easy to imagine that in another, time-warped limo, father was busy giving son a blowjob, waiting to be coated inside with lube and screwed into the carpeted floor of the luxury vehicle.

On his knees.

Laguna quietly thanked the guard as he held the door for them. Once it was closed, with Squall and Laguna settled in the lush back, the guard jogged to the black car parked just behind the limo. Squall and Laguna were left alone in silence.

The limo pulled into the street and neither of them spoke. The lights of the security vehicle were dim through the tinted glass of the limo; it was easy to forget they were there at all. And there were so many windows and seats between them and the driver that he might as well have not been there at all, either. Laguna really, really didn't want to be alone in the limo with Squall.

This was one of the worst moments of his life, Laguna realized. He had just seen himself have sex with his son in a magical booth in a great restaurant with _atmosphere_ ; he was turned on by it, doing a poor job of covering it up, and now stuck in a limo alone with the cause of all the trouble.

He began to wonder how something like this could happen. How someone went from a paternal figure to a lover. When did it start? Could it be traced to one event, no matter how insignificant? One day, this other Laguna must have looked at his son and seen something more that just his own flesh and blood. One day he had started wanting something more.

Laguna wondered why that sounded familiar.

Perhaps, he mused, their hands had touched while handing over a cup of tea. Maybe their shoulders had brushed in the hallway and a shock had gone down Laguna's arm like electricity. One day, perhaps accidentally over dinner, or at a meeting discussing trade laws, that man had glanced over at his son, looked him in the eye and wondered what it would be like to kiss him.

Laguna darted a nervous glance at Squall who was staring stonily out the window. His expression reflected in the glass was as shuttered as Laguna had ever seen.

Yes, he thought, that other Laguna must have hungered.

And one day, that Laguna stopped merely thinking about it. One day, after waiting and hesitating and calling himself countless awful, true names--pervert, fool, scoundrel --he had given in. Perhaps they had fought about it, Squall pushing Laguna against a wall angrily, only to see it all melt away into lust. Perhaps they had shared a drink--or one too many--and fallen into bed together.

Perhaps one day Laguna had looked at Squall and said, simply, "I don't want to be alone anymore, and you have your mother's eyes."

Laguna rubbed at his face, ignoring all the lines he felt. His mind was stuffed full with scenarios that wouldn't go away. Had it been Squall, kitten-curious and needy, to approach Laguna? Shyly asking for more than regularly scheduled dinners where the gap between them only widened?

Or had he come in anger when all the misunderstandings and prolonged silences became too much?

Had Squall screamed, "I don't see you like a father!" and then pinned Laguna's arms above his head against a wall until Laguna looked at his face and saw--really saw--all the things that were written there? Had he tried to explain to Laguna that his slumped shoulders and his black clothes and his shuttered looks were just cries for someone to come and take them all away and replace them with something _more?_

And why, why, why had Fate decided to show them this?

How long would it take him to forget it all?

"Say something," Laguna heard himself beg. He didn't want to be alone in the back seat of a limo where two sat. Didn't want to be alone with his thoughts. He was on the verge of babbling just to end the pained silence.

"There's nothing to say," Squall muttered, finally.

"There's _plenty_ to say, you just won't. You'd rather just keep it all locked up." Laguna ran his fingers through his hair shakily. "I've tried to make myself available so that you could talk to me. I've tried to be your friend. I'm all out of olive branches, Squall. Just tell me _something_."

"About?"

"About?" Laguna laughed humorlessly. "About anything! About what you saw, about what you didn't see. About… _anything_."

"What do you want to hear?" Squall asked gruffly. "That I don't believe it could ever happen, or that I do?"

Laguna was too riled to think about the implications of that sentence. He plowed on, his voice getting higher as his temper rose. "Just tell me what you think! I know you're thinking _something_. That's all you do is think! So explain to me what goes on in your head. Somewhere in that skull of yours something you saw bothered you, or didn't bother you, or disgusted you, or did _something_ to you. So tell me! What are you--"

Squall suddenly turned in his seat to look Laguna full in the eyes. Laguna gasped and pushed back against the door of the limo. His mouth shut firmly like a door closing against a storm. All he could do was gape at Squall, at the light in his eyes and the messages flickering in that fire. The look on his face…

If there were words for that look, Laguna did not know them. Words had never come so slowly before. Even if he had a keyboard before him, he couldn't have written what he saw. He wondered if somewhere on the dusty shelf of a library was a passage in a book, or the stanza of a poem, that captured Squall's expression flawlessly. He didn't think there could be.

It was a look that spoke of patience pushed to the limit, of carefully constructed layers pulling back to show a middle bleeding and pulsing with dark things best left covered. It was a look of wants that might resemble something else if turned on its side and held up to the light.

Squall held Laguna's gaze until he seemed satisfied that he understood. Then he returned to staring icily out the window. He was as still and quiet as a dead tree on a windless day.

Laguna, however, felt like he had just run a marathon. Or, at the very least, as if his heart had all by itself. He wanted to be anywhere else; he wanted to plant himself on the seat and stay right there forever; he wanted to open the door of the limo and tumble onto the streets and run the other way until no one could ever catch him. He wanted to fly.

He wondered how one man could feel so many things all at once.

The minutes ticked by, Time in the throws of death. Fate looked on, unconcerned.

And Laguna took a page from Squall's book and thought. He thought about what he had seen and what it had all meant. He thought about silent meals and long, lonely days. He thought about a country that maybe didn't mean as much as it once had and a prestigious position that didn't decrease the empty ache in his chest. In short, he thought about everything and how it all fit together with the silent boy sitting beside him.

He came to a nasty conclusion: this was the day when he would turn a corner and get lost. This was the day when things would change and go wrong. This was the day when the sky went orange and the oceans turned to ink.

_Look at them._

_They have no idea, do they?_

"Aw, hell," Laguna cursed.

A second later and his hands were on Squall's collar, clawed talons grabbing prey. A second after that and Squall's mouth was against his. Their lips met like sea and sky and Time fizzled away, defeated. Fate neatly folded her dance card and gave an elegant bow.

Laguna didn't give a damn. Each clumsy fumble, each kiss ruined by a misplaced nose, each hair caught in his eyelashes made him hotter. He knew now that the awkwardness he had witnessed earlier was his fault, not Squall's. Squall kissed like his lips knew secrets. And like Sirens, they would tell them all if you wanted to know, if only you would come closer, closer. Laguna wanted to know.

The rest of his body was jealous of his lips. Squall's mouth, soft, soft, soft like petals. Full like pillows.

And not enough.

Somehow he ended up across the seat, his thighs interlocked with Squall's. Fabric rustled, teeth clashed, lips moved frantically, meeting and parting like dancers; wet trails slid down chins, tongues chased after them.

Squall's winter-weight Garden uniform was tugged off his shoulders. Who cared what happened to the buttons? Laguna's fingers thirsted to feel flesh and they worked upwards to nipples hidden by the white cotton shirt worn underneath the jacket.

And the buttons on Laguna's shirt didn't last long, either. There was a small ripping sound that neither man paid much attention to. Laguna had other things to think about because Squall was looking at him, his eyes like a physical touch.

Laguna was momentarily glad that he had never stopped exercising. The look in Squall's eyes at the muscles ranging across his chest and abdomen were worth it.

Squall leaned forward, inhaling deeply. He pressed a kiss against the skin stretched above Laguna's heart.

And when his teeth clamped onto a nipple, Laguna hissed his son's name

He pulled Squall up for another kiss and then settled their bodies together like puzzle pieces. Straddling Squall's lap, Laguna felt like a king on a throne.

And all that leather didn't stop him. Laguna fought with the clasps on Squall's pants and won. The first touch of hot velvet against his fingers and he thought he might come from that alone. He wrapped his fingers around that heat, and didn't even wonder why he didn't feel shame or disgust. All he felt was right, in so many ways.

Squall jerkily thrust into his hand, his fingers clawing at the seat of the limo. He looked helpless and small, exposed like that with his sex jutting up and growing harder in Laguna's hand and his mouth open as he struggled for breath. His shirt was pushed up, exposing a single baby-pink nipple, as hard as the length between his legs. His eyes were hiding behind chocolate lashes and he looked as if he could be talked into anything.

"Tell me to stop," Laguna begged. "Tell me to stop. Tell me this isn't what you need." He kissed Squall sweetly, as if he might tell him a story, tuck him into bed and then climb in after him. "Tell me," he sighed.

Squall's fingers in his hair were painful. He lifted Laguna's head and forced him to break the kiss. Laguna's eyes went wide at the unexpected roughness. And when Squall looked at him, it was with eyes that were glazed with something wild.

"This isn't," Squall panted, "what I need."

Then he crushed his mouth to Laguna's and told him exactly what this was, instead.

Need had nothing to do with this.

Laguna's strokes sped, working a cadence against the flesh in his hand. He felt on fire, as if a fever raged through him. He had never done this to another man, didn't know if his hand was too tight, or not tight enough.

Squall didn't seem to have any protests. He was making small animalistic noises that came from the back of his throat. He went rigid, his lips softly forming three syllables.

"I'm here," Laguna answered.

Bringing Squall off in his hand was the hottest thing he had ever done. And watching Squall struggle for breath kicked his libido into high gear. He couldn't stop staring as the liquid spurt from the head of Squall's cock, and he sighed as it coated his fingers. He didn't know why, but he brought his hand to his mouth and licked. Squall laughed at the face he pulled.

Squall _laughed_.

The sound was even better than before because this time it was real.

Laguna forced his heart to beat again and just stared at his son. Squall was sweaty, his eyes overbright, and his lips bruised red. The steady rise and fall of his chest was hypnotic. He looked like everything anyone could ever want.

"Sorry, doesn't taste all that great," Laguna whispered. "That other me might change his mind about the blowjob once he finds out what you taste like."

And dammit if Squall didn't laugh again. The sound, Laguna decided, went right past his cock to his chest and settled into his heart until it fueled the beat there. Laguna never wanted him to stop. He'd give Squall a hand job a minute if he could hear that sound as a reward. The hand jobs would go on for eternity.

"So," Squall asked softly, "are you going to fuck _me_ in the limo, now?" His eyes drifted downwards.

Laguna looked too and suddenly recalled the heavy erection between his legs and shifted in hopes that it might disappear with a little coaxing. "No," he said, blushing. "I wouldn't even know _how_." He tried to laugh his nerves away but it only sounded forced.

"I've never done this before, Squall. Not with another man, and not with…family."

Squall said nothing and it made Laguna's chest tighten. The words sprung to his lips before he could stop them. "Have you? Done this before, I mean." Laguna stared a hole into the seat of the limo. He felt like an idiot.

Squall still didn't speak. Instead, he slowly undid the fastenings on Laguna's jeans. Laguna watched, fascinated. Squall's hand was hot and callused; he could feel each rough patch against his cock. He twitched in Squall's fingers.

"Does it matter?" Squall asked and stroked Laguna with just the right speed, just the right pressure. Laguna's head dropped back and he knew he hadn't been this good, that his fingers had been clumsy and unsure in comparison. Squall was as confident doing this to Laguna as he was handling a gunblade or commanding an army. But why, why was he?

Laguna felt his body curling in on itself, drawing in towards the hand that stroked him like metal filings to a magnet. "No," he panted. "It doesn't matter."

The heat spread from his groin up, out, and through. No blood made it to his head, but he heard rivers coursing inside him, all of them rushing together, building up, threatening to overflow.

It was too soon. _Not yet, not yet_ , he chanted in his mind.

He tried to stop his hips, but they wanted to move; he tried to make Squall slow his strokes by holding the hand around his cock, but all he did was urge Squall to greater speeds.

"Squall, not yet. I want--I want--"

"Let go, Laguna. Give it to me."

He came, blacked out, felt fingers digging in at his waist as a stream tore from him unchecked, and wondered why he was crying.

The scream that ripped from his throat was like opening his mouth to let out pain and invite in ecstasy.

His body was arched like a bridge, like a bow, and then he went down, down with nothing but soft leather and callused hands to catch him.

He had fallen so far back that he was draped across the seat, his head against the door. They only touched at the hips, their legs twined together impossibly. If he wiggled, he could feel the wet slide dripping past his thighs and down his stomach. Down onto the seat.

His chauffeur was going to have a lot of questions.

Laguna figured he was probably crushing Squall's hands. They were delicious, rough points of pressure against his back. When he lifted up, Squall retrieved them. But they returned a second later as Squall pulled Laguna up and then, falling back, across his chest. He didn't quite fit perfectly.

"You're shorter than me, this would be easier with me--"

"Shhhh."

Laguna frowned. Then a nipple by his mouth caught his attention and he licked in experimentally. Squall moaned.

"Hey! So it's not just me? This feels good?" He laved the bud again. It made Squall's hips squirm against him and that made his body sing.

"Yes, now stop."

"You're no fun."

The feeling of muscled arms around him was welcome, as was the rise and fall of Squall's chest beneath him. Squall trailed his fingers up and down Laguna's back, and it tickled, but not enough for Laguna to tell him to stop. Their clothing was tangled up around them; Laguna was sure his shirt was somehow wrapped around his leg and really didn't want to know how that had happened.

Buried beneath the smell of sweat and sex, Squall's skin smelled clean. Laguna wanted to taste him again, to have the salt that he knew was there against his tongue. Instead he said, "Say something."

It was the second time that he had made the demand that night, but nothing was the same anymore. Everything had changed. There were so many things to say at a moment like this. It was, after all, an unusual day filled with bizarre revelations and surprising plot twists that would make any writer's head spin. There was plenty of room here, Laguna decided, for Squall to profess romantic feelings, own up to desires, and make demands for the future. All the usual stuff of storytelling.

Perhaps, Laguna mused, Squall might say something appropriately manly like, "I've wanted you forever. Now you're mine. Never look at another man again or I'll kill him."

Somehow, he could tell that Squall was smiling when he merely said, "Thanks for dinner."

So much for romantic feelings and storytelling.

Laguna sighed. "You're welcome. Can I kiss you?"

"Yes."

Laguna lifted onto his elbows, his upper arm pressing into the back of the seat. He looked down at Squall's young face, at his old blue eyes, at his pretty lips. There were stories written in those eyes and secrets in those lips. Looking at Squall was enough; he forgot what he was supposed to be doing.

Squall remembered. He lifted up smoothly and started the kiss. _The_ kiss, as Laguna would come to think of it.

Closing his eyes to focus on the shifting of soft lips against his own, Laguna realized that this was the gentlest, most sensual kiss of his life. No restless tongue work, not a hint of lust at all. Just sweetness like lemonade and slow exploration like a dance. _The_ kiss was like summer days and sunsets and towels fresh out of the drier and warm showers and ice cream and rainbows and bear hugs all at once. It felt like what it must feel like to be worshiped.

It was more than a little sad when it ended.

"Hyne," Laguna said. Breathing was difficult. Thinking was harder. He blinked to clear all the rainbows and sunsets from his vision and knew that this was better than a book.

"Up," Squall said.

"Huh?"

"Get up, Laguna. We're almost there."

"Uh, huh," Laguna said, dazedly. Maybe he could kiss Squall again. He lowered himself towards those lips, anticipating fireworks.

"Now," Squall said and added a push.

Laguna sat up reluctantly. "You really _are_ no fun."

Squall only shrugged, but he was fighting a smile.

Eventually, they both re-zipped and tried to straighten mussed hair. Laguna finally unwound his shirt from around his body, frowning at it. _How_ had they managed that?

Squall's uniform was indeed missing two buttons. They found them laying next to what looked like a scrap of Laguna's shirt, which explained that ripping sound.

"Sorry," Laguna said sheepishly. He handed the buttons to Squall who took them with a stony expression.

But when he leaned back against the seat, he pressed his shoulder into Laguna's, which pressed right back.

They were silent as the limo neared where Balamb Garden hovered, not so far from a city of electric blues and reds, a palace that looked like spun glass. But unlike their dinners together, this time the silence was comfortable, or at least more comfortable. Laguna was too worn out to try to strike up another conversation anyway. Squall's shoulder against his felt like heaven.

When the limo pulled to a stop, he cleared his throat as if to speak.

But Squall had one hand on the handle of the limo already and Laguna felt the hammer of shock smash into his skull.

"Wait a minute!" he cried.

"Yes?" Squall had an amused expression on his face as he looked over his shoulder at him.

Caught with nothing to say, Laguna looked around at the windows, down at his hands, then finally into grey eyes that sometimes stormed blue.

"H-have dinner with me. Tomorrow. The next day. Whenever," he whispered.

Laguna suddenly learned that Squall's smile was twice as precious as his laugh.

The door of the limo slammed and Laguna slumped back onto his seat, grinning like a fool.

"You are a fool," he chided. Taking stock of things, he was confused, sore, sticky, dirty, probably smelly, and bruised in interesting places. He'd never be able to wear this shirt again.

It was a great day. The limo started again, taking him back to his city.

Then he started to whistle. He didn't know why.

But miles and miles up, Fate was whistling that same, victory tune, a glass of bourbon in her hands. She raised it to the sky. "Cheers!" she said.

And the velvet curtains swished together.

 


	2. Relationships for Dummies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Complete, Step-By-Step Beginner's Guide For Managing the Unusual Relationship You Have with Your Son, Even When You're Not Really Sure if You Have a Relationship with Him or Not, but Get the Feeling that Sex in the Back of Your Limo Counts for Something
> 
> AKA: Laguna Loire tries to come to terms with his relationship with Squall. Smut ensues.

**Step One: Honesty**

_Let's face it, if you picked up this book, you're probably already ready to take the plunge and start a relationship. A lot of people don't realize that finding someone special has as much to do with who you are as it does with who you're looking for. When you're searching for a new love, take a look at yourself and figure out exactly why you're putting yourself out there. What do you want out of a relationship? Companionship? Romance? Take a minute to address what's really on your mind..._

* * *

Laguna Loire was thinking about sex. Again.

Unfortunately for him, his was not the kind of life where he could walk out of a meeting and traipse off to the bathroom to take care of the problem. The Minister of Finance wouldn't appreciate that.

"Mr. President, where _are_ you going?" Laguna imagined the stern-faced man asking with a frown.

"Oh, sorry! I've just got to go wank. I'll be back once the beast is tamed."

No, that really wouldn't work. Through rock hard (bad choice of words) _determination_ alone, he made it through the day. His head was crammed full of thoughts as he wandered through the palace and he was still thinking when he settled down in his quarters with a cup of tea. Tea was always good for what ailed him, but it wasn't helping to make his problem go away. So he sipped and thought some more. Outside, night lulled and lazed and waited for him to join in.

He needed a solution and he needed one now. For the past four weeks, sex, which had disappeared from his mind for _years_ , had re-appeared with a vengeance. Or at least the idea of it had, which was almost worse. He was president! He didn't have time to be chasing skirts. Yet and still, ever since his last dinner with Squall, he'd been in a delicate state of perpetual readiness to screw or be screwed.

The cause was that, against all reason and common sense, he had ended up half naked and in a clinch with his son in the back of the Presidential Limo. There had been quite a lot of sloppy kissing and heavy breathing and then the next thing he had known, Squall had come in his hand. He had then returned the favor with the kind of skill born of experience and experimentation. Considering Squall and Laguna's particular relationship to one another, this was not normal behavior.

They were in a difficult position, and duties had kept them from truly talking about it. Laguna had to admit that he was a busy guy. Squall was too. Between the two of them they ran the world's wealthiest country and most powerful army respectively.

Still, despite being so busy, when he tried to sleep in bed at night, Laguna found he had lots of time after all. Time to think. And in that time, as sleep ran away from him like the Gingerbread man in that damn story, Laguna had time to regret. He could hear a tape-recorder version of his own voice accusing him over and over: "You pervert, you slept with your son. You pervert, you slept with your son." It made him wonder and worry whether Squall was beating himself up over the whole thing, too.

Part of the problem was that it hadn't been bad at all. Far from it. Squall's kisses had been like the dawn of spring, like the song of the birds, like the bloody rainbows in the sky if he wanted to think in clichés. Putting it simply, kissing Squall had been good. Late at night with nothing to distract him, he could get off thinking about the kisses alone. The rest of what had happened that day had just sweetened the deal. When he was a younger man, he never would have put too much stock in a handjob. Maybe it was because he was older, or maybe it was because he had been off the market for so long, but a handjob in the back of that limo had been like a shot of caffeine to his libido. Double Mocha Latte with a Twist of Lemon.

A switch had been turned on. But now it wouldn't turn _off_. If he had a free minute between conferences, he was thinking about sex. If he was in the shower, he was thinking about sex. When he went to bed at night, sex, sex, sex. But not just any old generic sex; only the flashes and scenes of Squall's handsome face and beautiful body, exposed and aroused and wanting him seemed to do the trick. His writer's mind could replay that entire night in detail from the restaurant—when a bead of moisture had clung to Squall's pretty, pouty mouth before his pink tongue had darted out to lick it away obscenely—to the drive back to Esthar when he had given in to his wants and pulled Squall to him in a kiss that was like contained fireworks. He could remember the feel of Squall's cock in his hand and how it felt to be pumped to completion by his son's calloused fingers. He could remember it all, and worse, did. Everyday. When he was supposed to be doing other things like signing treaties and meeting with Heads of State.

On the whole, it was a lot to deal with. But Laguna was anything but a quitter. He refilled his teacup and an idea formed in his mind. Maybe, he thought, his fixation on that night with Squall was only an indication of general horniness. When was the last time he'd cut loose, stopped acting like a president and started acting like a man with wants? No clear memory surfaced to answer his question. Perhaps there were cobwebs forming in interesting, underused places. No wonder he was as randy as a teen! It was an answer he could deal with. Horniness, he decided as he went to bed, was definitely to blame.

* * *

**Step Two: Finding that Special Someone**

_Now that you know what it is you want, now's the time to get out, get active and get yourself a new love! There are lots of great places to meet potential mates. You can try the old fashioned way and visit clubs, churches, or even the supermarket. Or you could get high-tech and try a dating service. Look around and find a place to satisfy your relationship needs._

* * *

To combat the fact that his horniness was now to astronomical levels, Laguna woke up the following morning and procured some Adult Entertainment through very secret, secure channels accessible only to the president. Or at least that's what his Aide told him. The simmering and sinful materials arrived the next day. In the evening when his business was done, The Estharian President (a perfectly respectable guy, really) opened the first magazine in the stack of emergency wank supplies and had a browse. Staring down at the classy naked ladies with breasts bigger than mangoes spread out like a feast in exotic locations, Laguna was overcome by the heavy, brain-fogging, unavoidable urge to...

yawn and go to bed.

Okay, so he was a bit troubled. Any straight, red-blooded man who learns that a bevy of big-breasted nude women makes him limper than a noodle would be. But he wasn't, you know, _as_ devastated as he could be. Or at least that's what he told himself as he tossed and turned and tried to sleep that night. Perhaps, he reasoned, it was time to consult his libido about the _nature_ of his sexuality. After all, Raine had been a long time ago and there would never be another woman to take her place. Perhaps she and the all-but-forgotten Julia had been the exceptions, not the rule. He decided to find out. Thus resolved, he finally went to bed, but his dreams were of Squall.

The next day was the same as every other day. He woke up, ran the country, made important decisions that affected the lives of hundreds of thousands of people and managed a meal or two while he was at it.

But as the day wound down, he remembered his resolution to figure out his own sexual leanings. The secret channels were used again complete with cryptic secret codes:

"The eagle has landed. The mustard has boiled over and the stove is on fire. The fuzzy weasel needs a nest. I repeat: the fuzzy weasel _needs_ a nest _bad_."

And waiting for him the following day was a stack of high quality _Gay_ Adult Entertainment. Swallowing a breath-full of courage, he opened the first page. Now he was treated to the sight of naked  _men_ with _muscles_ bigger than mangoes spread out like a feast in exotic locations. There was a reoccurring theme involving boots and cowboy hats. Laguna decided that he needed to have a chat with Irvine about his fashion choices the next time they met. "Son," he'd have to say in a grim, disapproving tone of voice. "Do you know you dress like a porn star? Do you think that's appropriate? Hmm? Is that the image you want to present?"

But other than the urge to have a heart-to-heart with Irvine, the only thing that the magazine stirred in him was a bit of self-consciousness. He'd have to hit the gym more, he decided. It wasn't that he was flabby or out of shape, but his muscles weren't quite large enough to conquer a world yet. By this magazine's standards, he was unfuckable.

He picked up the next magazine just in case it was quantity that counted and flipped to the centerfold. Instant trouble. Heat spread down his body and pooled in his groin where a delicious, painful tightening was happening.

Mr. January was...

Laguna dropped the magazine and then scrambled to pick it up again, fingers shaking as he flipped back to the page. He gawked.

No, it wasn't _quite_ perfect, but it was close. The theme this month was "Heroes and Warriors." Riding the current trends—well, _riding_ was the perfect word, wasn't it?—the magazine had found someone that looked too, too much like one popular Garden Commander and World Savior. His expression was intense. Laguna reached back to his days as a writer and found the word _smoldering_ apropos. With his eyes, the model was daring you to follow the lines of his body down, down, _down_. Laguna gave in. Reclining atop a blanket made of white fur, Mr. January wasn't fully nude, but the image was almost more exciting for what you _couldn't_ see.

Mr. January wore a fur-lined jacket pushed off his shoulders to reveal his rippling chest and a heavy silver pendant dangled around his neck. His nipples were pink buttons calling to be licked. His tight, black pants were unbuttoned, unzipped and his splayed legs parted the fly, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of soft curls and a hard, hard...

Laguna closed the magazine. _Dear Hyne_ , he thought, _his eyes are even that strange mix between stormy blue and ash grey._ He suspected they were contacts; he suspected the man's hair was dyed. He suspected he needed to go somewhere quiet and take care of his problem.

And there was the answer he was looking for. Standing in the shower—chest heaving with his breaths, wrist sore, and hot water washing the evidence away—Laguna realized the country's budget problems were nothing compared to his own.

Not women. Not men. Just Squall.

* * *

**Step Three: Communication**

_So now that you've found the one you want to spend your time with, it's time to get to know them! Plan something special. Don't overdo the romantic mood with candles and chocolate, which might scare them away. Instead, make it comfortable. Then get down to the business of getting to know each other._

* * *

Two weeks later...

Everything was arranged. There was nothing left for him to do, and with the way his nerves were messing with his head, there was nothing he _could_ do.

Squall was coming to see him.

If it were anyone else, that simple sentence wouldn't carry so much weight. But even Squall's method of transportation was...unique. In answer to Laguna's thoughts, his palace started to shake. Yes, he thought, Squall knew how to make an entrance. He didn't even have to try very hard since he got taxied back and forth in a giant flying fortress containing a highly trained military force. The darn thing scared wildlife at best and blotted out the sun at worst.

The fact that it was pretending to be a school just made the whole thing even more twisted. This was worse than a wolf in sheep's clothing. This was a Panzer Tank in a cute, fuzzy bunny suit.

Laguna strode to the balcony leading off of his quarters and watched as Balamb Garden slowly lowered itself to the ground, like a dragon curling around itself to sleep atop its treasure. He imagined the dust kicked up by the fortress was actually smoke curling from the dragon's nostrils as it slept and dreamt dragon dreams.

He'd fought his fair share of dragons in his life, but he didn't feel up to it anymore.

"Dammit," he cursed on a whisper. There had to be a better way to do this.

He'd wracked his brain for weeks, but he really was beginning to believe there was no easy way for one to break up with his son.

 _Break up_ , he thought in the equivalent of a mental snarl. No, that wasn't quite right either. After all, one fantastic, mind-blowing grope-fest in the back of his limousine didn't count as being together in the first place. And the few, stilted conversations over the comm that had resulted hardly made them sweethearts.

All across his city of glistening lights and colors, men and women peeked out of their houses and watched the chariot of their savior arrive with all the extravagance of a sunrise. The people of Esthar still weren't used to visitors any more than they were used to the idea of being completely _visible_. Now they had to contend with the fact that any Tom, Dick, or...er... _Squall_ that came around would notice immediately that there was a very wealthy city _right there_. You can't miss it. No, really, their cloaking system's down. You can even knock on it if you like.

 _Thunk, thunk_.

See? Solid!

The people of his city were handling it better than Laguna had thought they would, however. There was even an air of excitement for the New World where they lived. A world with no Sorceress and no fear. A world where new people and new ideas came to them daily from visitors from far away places. In particular, the arrival of Balamb Garden and the heroes it contained was a highly anticipated event. Laguna had even heard that many stores had declared a holiday in celebration. As president, he hadn't given them the okay to do that. But he was _pretty_ sure the Public Security and Business Act from two years ago had a clause in it about warranted holidays. He'd let it slide.

Balamb blocked the nighttime horizon beyond the border of his city. It was as if a whole chunk of sky had been removed and replaced by a metal creature. The configuration of its lights shifted and Laguna wondered how many little soldiers were moving around inside, securing things, double-checking things. He watched it, wishing the outskirts of the city could jump to the side so he could see if anyone was leaving.

From behind him, his secretary suddenly cleared her throat, surprising him. He whirled and eyed her as if she were an invading army. Calming himself, he listened as she began to speak in her usual friendly tones. "Commander Leonheart has arrived," she said, quite unnecessarily. Laguna had to fight not to slap his own forehead. She'd come with great references, but stating the obvious was the one skill she'd failed to mention in her resume. He was just on edge enough that this was the proverbial straw that broke the Bahamut's back.

"Gee, ya think? I hadn't noticed! He's so quiet and stealthy in that Flying Fortress of Terror of his! Like a bloody cat pissin' on cotton!" Laguna said. His voice was unnaturally high and he got the feeling that he wasn't breathing as often as he should.

"I'm sorry, sir?" The uncertainty in her voice was almost endearing. He took a deep, calming breath like Kiros always suggested and found himself capable of behaving like a human, after all.

"It's...nothing. I'm sorry. Thanks."

She bowed herself out of the room with an I'm-two-seconds-from-tears look on her face. Laguna vowed to buy her flowers soon in apology. It wasn't her fault that his son did strange things to him simply by existing.

His mind was momentarily alight with a flash of creamy skin, soft hair, cold eyes that burned him. If he concentrated, there were sound effects, like the sound of a tongue lapping at his neck or the sound of a moan forcing its way from his throat. That moan had been a name, not so long ago. His  _son's_ name.

Leaning on the railing, he pressed the palms of his hands to his eyes until spots and darkness overwrote the images of Squall. He didn't want to see them; they were starting to get old despite the fact that they never lost their appeal. He'd thought about that day so much he was sick of it, even if his body was still quite, quite interested. One way or another, he needed to end this.

In the weeks since he realized the true cause of his problem, he'd tried writing a letter to Squall, but that had seemed cowardly. Besides, what would he say?

_Dear Son,_

_Despite the fact that it was the best (and only) fun I've had in ages, I'm afraid that fooling around with you was a bad idea. It's not that you're not beautiful and desirable and maddeningly sexy. It's that I think you probably did the whole thing out of pity for an old man who you could never possibly want. The whole incest thing is a little disturbing, too, though not as much as I'd like since I wouldn't be dreaming and fantasizing about you all the time if it bothered me a little bit more. I'm working on building up a healthy dose of instinctive revulsion and will contact you once I've succeeded. I'd still like to try being your father, but can we work towards eliminating this pesky sexual attraction? It's keeping me from focusing on what the Minister of Finance is saying and he's a scary guy._

_Sincerely,_

_Your loving (in a perfectly normal, platonic sense) father, Laguna Loire, Estharian President._

Yeah, brilliant.

So the letter was out. He'd composed calls in his head that ended up sounding just as dumb. Besides, a call was hardly less cowardly than a letter. So he had to see Squall in person. Luckily, the SeeDs had been scheduled to come anyway to discuss security for the upcoming World Summit. The timing had seemed so convenient. Squall will be here anyway, he had reasoned; I might as well get this over with. So he had sent along an invitation to continue their monthly dinners. And now Squall was here.

Through some freakish twist of fate and time, the day happened to be the three-month anniversary of when Laguna had learned the texture and taste of Squall's mouth. More than just his mouth, he remembered on a blush. He hadn't known why he was doing it at the time, but after Squall came in his hand, he had tasted the shine on his fingers with a long, slow swipe of his tongue. It hadn't tasted very good at all, but a part of him was scrambling to do it all again, bad taste and all. Probably just because it was a part of Squall and no matter how many times and ways he tried to convince himself that he didn't, he wanted him. All of him. Painfully.

He couldn't figure out where these feelings had come from. It had to be pure physical attraction because, after all, what did he really _know_ about Squall? Sure he had spent a considerable amount of his youth with the boy in his head, a constant, bolstering presence that had made him feel invincible. Sure Squall had a whole set of memories in his head that belonged to Laguna. And sure sometimes he still got the feeling that they could read each other's thoughts and feelings without talking, but that was just his imagination.

Wasn't it?

He figured that if he really understood Squall, their dinners together wouldn't be so quiet and uncomfortable. Squall didn't like to talk about _anything_ , more or less _himself_. How could he possibly know him well enough to care for him in _that_ way? So anything he was feeling for Squall was merely displaced fatherly affection based on years of separation and an insurmountable guilt complex due to his failure as a parent. The fact that Squall's kisses made his blood sing had nothing to do with it, of course.

When his secretary's timid voice came over the intercom, Laguna sighed in resignation.

"Show him in," he said.

* * *

**Step Four: Conflicts and Setbacks**

_All relationships have rough spots. It's learning to overcome them that helps the two of you become closer. Don't forget the valuable lesson from step three: communication. Talking is a definite way to get back on the track to enjoying being with each other._

* * *

Laguna moved into the room and then crossed to where a lavish dinner had been arranged on a table that looked out of place. He'd never had a real dinner table in his quarters before, but this one had been brought in specially for today. Up till now, if he ever ate in his quarters he used the same coffee table he'd had for ages. He was pretty sure Kiros had found it when they redecorated the suite and installed that fancy voice-activated security system. The security system was still a little intimidating, but the coffee table was an old friend.

Laguna looked uncomfortable in his own skin as he stood before the door.

Squall stepped through it and a little shot went through Laguna's body, spreading out and settling heavily in his gut. "Hi," he choked out.

Squall closed the door behind him and it made a friendly little _click_.

"Mr. President," Squall said and inclined his head. He was dressed in his usual black and fur, but his gunblade was probably back in its case somewhere inside Balamb. Squall had his own quarters now, didn't he? And that fancy office of Cid's was all his to do with as he wanted. There was room in either of those for the Lionheart even if it was probably the biggest, unwieldiest sword ever made.

"Hungry?" Laguna asked.

"I could eat," Squall answered.

Laguna gestured awkwardly towards the spread. "Er...this way...?"

The table was too long and Laguna found himself squinting at his son across the way. Luckily, the meal was a traditional Estharian one which meant that both he and Squall had dozens of plates and bowls before them with no need to pass anything back and forth. Everything was colorful and beautifully arranged; cold salads and decoratively cut vegetables. The kitchen staff had outdone themselves for the Commander. Everything was perfect. Now the only problem was communication. Laguna was staring at his plate and realized the distance between them wasn't helping him. He glanced up. How could he handle a conversation when he could barely see his son's face?

"So...how's Balamb?" he tried.

"What?" said Squall.

"I said: HOW'S BALAMB?"

"Oh. IT'S FINE."

"GOOD."

Yes, the table was a little too long. Shouting across it to deliver his news wasn't appealing. And now he couldn't eat a bite. Squall was looking like he always did, but Laguna kept imagining him stretched out half naked on a fur blanket with his legs spread just so...

He needed to get this over with.

"Actually, can we skip dinner for a minute here? I need to talk to you," he said.

Squall's smooth face flickered with a frown, but he nodded, stood, and moved into the sitting area. Laguna followed, thinking that he had it good as far as living arrangements went. His quarters inside the palace were expansive and, after being their sole inhabitant for so long, they were tailored specifically to his tastes. Every chair was broken in perfectly. He selected his favorite couch and sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Squall chose the chair across the way and mirrored his posture.

"Okay. Right. Thanks. Sorry about dinner," Laguna said, getting off to a bad start. Squall was giving him the look that said he thought Laguna was an idiot. Sadly, Laguna was inclined to agree with him.

He took a breath and tried again. "I guess you figured out that I wanted to talk to you before you got here?"

"Yes," Squall said. Was it his imagination, or was Squall's voice like smoke and satin all at once? Did he sound like that all the time? No wonder he was so far gone; Squall was everything desirable in the world.

"And I guess you figured out that I wanted to talk to you about…the last time we had dinner?"

"I did."

Laguna rubbed absently at his leg; it was starting to cramp a little. "Right. So." He gestured helplessly. "What do you think?"

"About?" asked Squall.

"About what happened that night!" Laguna said exasperatedly. How had his son made it through life being such a horrible conversationalist?

"About what will happen from now on. About how the hell I'm going to live with myself knowing what I did and who you are." The last was said with a dark tone so unlike his usual cheerful voice that Laguna barely recognized it as his own.

Squall eyed him for a minute and then said, "Laguna, it happened. What good will regretting it do?"

Hmmm. That was a reasonable question. "Not the least bit of good," Laguna answered. _"However_ , it's already too late to regret my regret because I was already regretting everything by the time you told me not to regret it, Squall." He paused and blinked a few times. Then Squall blinked, too.

Laguna shrugged. So that hadn't made any sense at all. But words weren't his friends when he spoke. They only loved him when he wrote and then they caressed him like Squall had. Once. He'd have to try again. "You're a wonderful, handsome young man. Anybody would want to be with you. But you're my son and you're only...how old _are_ you?"

"Nineteen."

"Nineteen!" Laguna slapped his forehead. "You're still a minor in, in, in... _somewhere!_ So not only did I force you to do that—"

"You didn't force me, Laguna."

"—but I corrupted a minor, too!" A voice in the back of his mind was telling him to calm down and get a hold of himself, but it was a very weak, snot-nosed sounding voice and Laguna didn't want to listen to it. He was on _edge_. "I can't justify my actions. I can't tell you what I was thinking! Hyne knows I have no idea what _you_ were thinking!"

In response to his tirade, Squall only scowled at him and Laguna scowled back.

 _Hyne Squall looked good when he scowled_ , Laguna's mind told him, wickedly. And that was just the calming bucket of ice water he needed.

He closed his eyes and took a minute to bring himself back to the issue. He had to tell Squall what he had decided. Fantasizing about him while he did it was counterproductive. _If you have the energy to notice how kissable he looks_ , he thought, _you have the energy to do what needs to be done._

Laguna took a moment to compose himself. "I'm an old man and you're a young hero with a bright future ahead of him," he began, choosing his words carefully. "I don't want to assume that anything would have ever happened again. My guess is that it was a one-time thing, something that just happened. After all, I'm _me_ and you're _you_ so why would you want...?" He didn't finish the sentence but trailed off, gesturing at himself and adding a self-depreciating laugh.

Squall didn't laugh with him so Laguna nervously cleared his throat and continued. "But just in case we ever ended up in the back of a limo again, I wanted to say that it's a bad idea. This is. _Us_. Whatever." He waved a hand between them to illustrate what he meant just in case Squall was feeling as stupid as he was. "I want to be your father. I want to be your friend. I should never have touched you like that. I was wrong to do what I did and I'm sorry."

There, he had said it. And he was sorry, too, but not _exactly_ for what he was apologizing for. But since he _was_ sorry for _something_ , he decided the lie wasn't as bad as it would have been if he weren't sorry at all. Of course, by the time he was finished, humiliation had bowed his head until he was staring at his hands. But it was over. Over, he realized, was a very, very ugly word. He didn't like it.

A long, uncomfortable silence followed his words like a grubby child after the ice cream truck.

"So that's what you wanted to say?" Squall asked finally.

Laguna nodded. He wanted to ask for forgiveness, but could only repeat, "I'm sorry."

Squall didn't say anything and so Laguna looked up quickly. Squall was studying him with that blank expression of his. Looking at him like this, Laguna couldn't see many similarities between them. Squall was too intense, too troubled. He had probably just made it worse.

"I...I think you should go," Laguna whispered.

Squall didn't speak. A second passed and then he stood and moved to the door. From where Laguna sat, facing the door, he could see Squall's entire journey as if in slow motion. It was painful watching him go. He didn't look back over his shoulder or say anything at all. He just walked away like...like it didn't matter. Laguna didn't like admitting it to himself, but he had kind of hoped Squall would put up more of a fight about this. He could have at least looked a little _disappointed_ or _something_.

When Squall's hand closed on the doorknob, Laguna closed his eyes and kept them closed. He didn't want to see this. He didn't want to see this.

He heard the _click_ when the door closed, but it didn't sound so friendly now. That was what 'over' sounded like. He groaned and dropped his head onto the back of the couch and then rubbed at his stinging eyes. "Dammit," he said. And then just because it made him feel a little better, he added a few more: "Dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit."

He laughed bitterly. "You're an idiot," he hissed at himself. When a pair of warm hands settled onto his knees, he almost jumped out of his skin.

"Yes, you are," a satin voice agreed. Laguna didn't move at all; he just waited as if afraid those hands might disappear if he did anything at all. The hands slid higher up his thighs, slowly. Laguna let himself smile.

"You came back," he said.

"I never left."

And at that moment, Laguna decided to become a quitter. He dropped his hands to cover Squalls and guided them up, up, up. Intertwined, their hands moved over his abdomen, past his collarbone and finally stopped at Laguna's mouth. He kissed Squall's hands, one at a time, and then he opened his eyes to stare at the prize he got for being a quitter.

"Hullo."

Squall gave a broken smile in return. "Hello."

"Will you kiss me now?"

"If you want."

And then he did—leaning into Laguna's body—and the fireworks were back. Laguna spread his legs and pulled Squall between them. When they still weren't touching enough for his liking, he slid down on the couch until his hips dangled off it and Squall was pressed right _there_. He vaguely recalled that right _there_ was the spot that had gotten him into so much trouble in that damn limo in the first place. He was starting to wonder if parts of his anatomy had it out for him. It was almost like Conspiracy against the President, if you thought about them. With Squall's lips on him like this, he decided he needed to award his treasonous body a Medal of Honor the minute it was done having the fuck of its life.

* * *

**Step Five: Taking Things to the Next Level**

_Relationships are hard work and, let's face it, some disagreements are just too difficult to fix with just talking. At times like this, mind-blowing, sweaty, raunchy, don't-kiss-your-mother-with-that-mouth sex will save the day. Forget about all that romance. Who the fuck needs it? Instead, grab that special someone, push them down onto the nearest available surface and ravish them until their eyes pop out or they forget their own name. Or maybe both. And remember Love Birds, if it's not hot and dirty, it's not good._

* * *

There was a chorus of moans from the two of them and the kiss had to stop for a moment so they could catch their breath. When it started up again, Laguna's brain decided it was time to explain things.

"I...mmm...didn't mean it...I...mmmm...yessss...I want this and...ohhhhh...please don't...mmm...go..."

"Mmm..." was Squall's intelligent reply.

"I just...couldn't believe...mm...mm...more...again...mmmm...what was I saying?"

"Mmnnmm."

"Oh, right...I couldn't believe you would...ohhhhhh...want...want...Hyne I want you!"

"Mmmmmmm!" Squall answered enthusiastically.

But despite the pressure against his cock and the feel of Squall's rubbing between his legs, both men were content just to kiss, to explore each other's mouths. It started out slow, just an exploration, soft as spring rain.

Laguna had sunk further down onto the couch so that Squall was almost on top of him, supporting himself on his elbows on either side of Laguna's waist. The gentle spring rain suddenly turned into a hurricane.

It was mostly tongue now, as if the two muscles were making love in place of the two men. Squall's tongue in his mouth was forceful and then soft, demanding and then teasing. The kiss changed with its wants, but it was always thick, always thirsty, always the center of everything Laguna was feeling. The kiss was desperate now, both men greedily taking and wanting more. It alone had brought Laguna to his current state, shaking and half ready to come. His neck arched and his breathing labored, he had poured everything he had into this kiss and felt as if he'd never be able to get all of it back again. Some of it had become Squall's, a part of him forever. And now Laguna's hips were moving, lifting up in a rhythm that matched that of the tongue pumping in and out of his mouth. He rubbed against Squall's heat, sparking his own. A little more...a little more and he'd...

His trembling hands cupped the sides of Squall's face and pulled back. "We have to...we have to...If you touch me I'll—"

"I know," Squall said. He was just as breathless as Laguna and the words were broken by the sound of him trying to get air into his lungs. "I know. We'll slow down." He dropped his head and lapped gently at Laguna's neck. "We'll slow down."

Now Squall's hands joined the game, but they were more patient than his mouth had been.

"Here?" Squall whispered against his ear.

"Umm...no...bedroom?" Laguna answered.

"Okay. Up."

Then Squall's hands were tugging him up, but once he was standing, they didn't let go. Laguna didn't mind at all.

The two of them touched and kissed all the way to the doorway of Laguna's bedroom, which was as far as they made it before they began tearing at each other's clothing and grinding against each other wildly. Squall dropped to his knees.

"What do you...want to do?" Squall asked as he undid the fly of Laguna's pants and released the pressure against his erection.

"Oh...well...anything sounds good...at this point," Laguna answered back. "What you're doing now is great. You should do that...more. Yes, more is no problem. Right here. Now."

"Mmmm," Squall answered and nuzzled against Laguna's hip. "Not a problem for me, but that door was unlocked."

Laguna felt confusion happily sweep lust away.

"Wuh?"

"The door, Laguna. To your quarters. It was unlocked."

A tiny logistical error occurred in the circuits of Laguna's mind. Somehow, Squall had kicked his long-dormant sex drive into high gear so that he felt like he was going to come at any second. And yet, now that he had accomplished the magic of reinvigorating Laguna's Libido, his goal was to talk about doors. Was the furniture next on the docket? Maybe they'd exchange decorating tips after that! _This is infuriating_ , Laguna thought. He wanted to shag, not talk about doors!

"What are you talking about? Do that thing you were doing with your hands again."

Squall stealthily evaded the hands that sought his. "No, what about the door? Anybody could come in. I'll go lock it."

"If it's that important to you, fine!" Laguna huffed, then raised his voice to say clearly, "Nighttime settings. System armed."

Instantly there was a mechanical whine that sounded through the room. The sound of several doors closing and the resulting _click, click, click_ made Squall tense. The lights dimmed and only a few, gentle lamps here and there illuminated the wide space of Laguna's quarters. Squall's face in the faint light was otherworldly: smooth and pale. He was unreal, a ghost, a specter. Beautiful.

"What the hell was that?" Squall asked gruffly, seemingly just to ruin Laguna's romantic internal monologue.

"Security system."

Now Squall was wearing an expression as close to disbelief and horror as Laguna imagined he was capable of. "Security? It sounded like a prison lockdown," he said. There was a beat and then both men laughed because, between the two of them, they had three sets of memories—two of them identical—of what a prison sounded like.

When Squall's husky laughter ended, he pressed his face against Laguna's thigh. "Your security team is paranoid."

"I've been president since Hyne was wearing knickers. If I die," he shrugged, letting the implication speak for him. Laguna was hardly a vain man, but he could be realistic when his infection optimism took a vacation. "They worry," he finished.

Squall looked thoughtful, then said, "So who can get in now?"

"No one but the guards. And maybe Kiros."

"Good," Squall growled and then lowered his mouth to Laguna's cock. Laguna felt his body start to fold neatly in half, bending to be closer to the cause of the delicious sensations sending electric waves through him. They shot up his stomach and to his heart and then out through his head until he thought he might faint. Squall's tongue was everywhere, pressed against the slit at the tip of his cock and then laving the base before dipping back to tease the heavy balls.

Laguna cried out and said a word that might have been a human language, and just might have been illicit to a Moomba.

There should have been no way that Squall could do that with his mouth. Laguna made another noise he couldn't identify—something between a moan and a gasp—and clutched at the door frame. It was good, good, _so_ good. He couldn't even find a place to put his hands that was safe because he wanted to grab the back of Squall's head and fuck his face. Good, good—

"S-stop," he said.

Squall lifted his head. In the moment that the two looked at each other, one could hear the puzzlement of crickets ringing through the air.

"What?" Squall asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Stop."

Now Squall looked as puzzled as the crickets sounded. Perhaps he was wracking his brain for any instances of a man asking him to stop giving him a blowjob. Not finding any, he looked even more confused, asking, "Is it...bad?"

"Hyne, no."

"So it feels good?"

"Yes."

"Then why am I stopping?" Squall asked, his voice two clicks shy of exasperated.

"Because. You shouldn't do that."

"I shouldn't? Why not?" asked Squall.

"Nobody should," Laguna said weakly.

Squall suddenly looked at his father with new eyes. His expression showed that he was wondering if this man—who looked fifteen years younger than he was, had a body like a god, hair like silk, a voice like velvet, skin like porcelain, and the personality to tie it all together into a highly-screwable package—was secretly...a prude? Squall seemed to have decided that it was a miracle he was ever born and that he'd become a religious man starting tomorrow to thank the higher powers.

"Laguna...if it feels good, just go with it," he said on a sigh. And then he lowered his head again, this time not stopping even when Laguna made half-hearted protests. He gently tongued the head of Laguna's cock, and then trailed down. Lower.

Laguna found his no's turning into yes's instantly. Squall's hands were gliding over him like a boat over water and the heat of his tongue was enough to melt Laguna into a puddle of warm, contented flesh. A thick swipe up the underside of his shaft had him twisting. Then Squall's mouth was hovering over the head of his cock again. He stopped, looking up at Laguna's flushed face, asking for permission.

Laguna gave it. "Please. Yes."

Then slowly, oh so slowly, he eased Laguna's cock into his mouth—not all the way, just enough to playfully lick the underside and tongue the vein. Then, as if he were bored with merely sampling the taste of Laguna, he locked his lips around the head and sucked.

"Weahhhh, awadaaaa" Laguna cried out and then silently apologized to all the helpful Moombas who might have been near enough to be offended.

He was burning inside, the wet intensity engulfing him. His back arched away from the door frame, his hips shuddered forward. He tried to stop himself but couldn't keep his fingers from digging into the short hairs at the back of Squall's neck and pulling him down farther, farther. Take it all...take it...

Squall had to stop licking and sucking long enough to restrain him by putting his hands on Laguna's thighs and pushing back.

Then he purred deep in his throat and sent Laguna into sobbing. The feeling of that purr was almost a reprimand that said, "Stay still."

Too quick for him to notice, Squall grabbed his hips and tugged him forward, swallowing as he did so until his face was buried in the soft hairs surrounding Laguna's cock, giving him what he wanted. Laguna's mind was coherent enough to wonder about gag reflexes and why it was that Squall didn't seem to have one, but then he was feeling his soul and his essence streaming downwards, rejoicing to meet the clever mouth that gave them so much pleasure.

Bonelessly lolling forward, Laguna felt it coming. It built, and built. He was so close.

"Squall I'm...you should...Hyne howthehelldoyoudothatwithyourtongue?"

In answer, Squall did _that_ some more, massaging with his tongue even as his throat swallowed and his head bobbed.

The universe, quite simply, came to an end, and Laguna felt sorry for it since it hadn't done anything to deserve such a fate, but really, orgasms like this didn't happen every millennium and it only made sense for the stars to melt and the heavens to implode since everything inside him had. Or it seemed to in how he lost what made him _him_ when his seed was spilled, but gained it all back with a scream that left his throat aching.

He came back down slowly, drifting, and was ecstatic to find his world still there, waiting for him, kneeling on the ground before him.

He was vaguely aware that Squall didn't release him even after he was spent. Instead, he gently sucked on the softening heat in his mouth, taking what he could find and swallowing it all.

Laguna watched in fascination as his cock slipped from Squall's mouth and he licked his lips like a cat. "Dear Hyne," Laguna whispered. What had he created? His son was a deadly weapon.

"Good?" Squall asked. Laguna didn't imagine the smug expression; they had both heard him scream louder than a B-movie actress confronted with the Wolf Man.

"You know it was."

"Good." He stood with the grace of a dancer, roughly pulled Laguna to him and kissed him soundly, giving back some of what he had taken, letting it mix with what Laguna had to give, and then talking it all back with long drinks and dips of his tongue.

From then on, it was tumbling, tripping, almost dancing through the semi-dark. Laguna's bed was too far away today where it had been just right every other day.

"Nice bed," Squall whispered as he undid the buttons of Laguna's shirt. He took the compliment because, well, it was true. The bed was high and soft and oh so very big. Being a squirmer, Laguna wanted the peace of mind that came with having several full 360s to go before the floor became your best friend. Besides, years in the military had made him into a man who valued space almost more than comfort. Years as a president had made him into a man who didn't mind accepting perks. The bed was a perk.

They fell backwards together onto it and let the comforter embrace them.

In the time it took for Laguna to become familiar with the contours of Squall's collarbone and to learn that he was ticklish where his rips stood out, there wasn't a single scrap of clothing between them. Laguna blew a puff of air upwards, hoping to knock hair that had escaped the holder out of his face the better to see his son. He realized it would have been more effective doing it manually, but that would have involved taking his hands off Squall, which was not an option.

"It's too long," he complained.

"No, it's not," Squall answered and then ended the conversation by rolling Laguna onto his back and pushing his hips down until their erections ground together in a maddening pleasure-pain. Laguna (who would have thought such a thing impossible before) felt his cock stir with interest once again.

"I'm too old to keep up with you," he huff-puffed even as his hips lifted to meet Squall's.

Squall wrapped a hand around the now fully hard proof that Laguna wasn't nearly as old as he liked to pretend. All of Laguna's skin clambered to be touched like that, his cock was just lucky tonight. "You seem to be doing fine to me."

"Ohh...oh...hmmm, feels good. I'm telling you, my arthritis will start acting up any minute and then it'll all be over. Mmmm."

"You don't have arthritis," Squall stated.

"Tendonitis, too. And an allergy to corn."

Squall stroked the smooth, slick shaft in his hands with teasing pressure. It hardened and lengthened and Laguna was too busy panting to invent a new illness.

"Lube?" Squall asked.

Laguna's mouth fell open. "Oh. My. Lord," he managed then recovered. "Yes. Okay. Right. There's oil. In the drawer."

When Squall raised a brow at him, Laguna was glad for the blush-hiding darkness. "I-I've been, _ahem_ , thinking about you. Recently. A lot."

Squall stared at him for a moment and then silently left the bed to rifle through the drawer. He came back quickly and took his position above Laguna once again. "Will you let me?"

Laguna's mouth was dry. It took him a minute to answer. "Touch me," he said.

Like a good little soldier, Squall obeyed. Laguna got the feeling that there was no place left on him that was stroked, teased, and sometimes pinched. Then came the teeth, biting gently into his nipples. Laguna learned a little something about himself.

"Harder," he commanded.

If Squall was surprised, he didn't show it. Instead, he turned the pressure up a notch—

"Uhohh...harder."

—and then another.

_"Harder."_

Squall lifted his head. "Are you _kidding?_ "

"—like it...mmmmm," Laguna moaned.

—and then another, but with a surprised look on his face that Laguna couldn't see for all that he was squeezing his eyes together tightly and seeing stars.

It could have been painful— _should_ have been painful—and he'd be sore as hell in the morning, but at the moment, Squall's perfect white teeth torturing his nipple felt like a little piece of heaven. Plus, he made up for all the minor stabs of pain with soothing licks of his tongue.

To Laguna, the warm up was so good that by the time Squall was spreading his legs and kneeling between them, he had quite forgotten what they were supposed to be doing. It was the cool tickle of liquid drizzled between his legs that reminded him. A tiny part of his mind told him to panic. The rest of it told him to spread his legs wider. So he did.

Squall was slow and cautious. He teased the area around the pucker before ever touching it, as if to get Laguna used to the sensation. Now the oil was warm and teasing his body where it slid. Even the tops of his thighs were slick with it. Laguna watched with half lidded eyes at the concentrated expression on Squall's face as he teased Laguna's body. Then he let his eyes slide down his toned body, hidden by shadows, and then lower to where his cock bobbed against his belly, hard and leaking. That was for him. All of it.

Laguna's head fell back. "Please..."

A second later and the first finger slid into him. It twirled and moved and then made room for the second. Laguna grit his teeth. Compared to Squall, the fingers were nothing. He had to adjust, be ready. And then the fingers did something—just a simple gesture really—which made Laguna scream.

He came down again when he felt the flutter of kisses over his eyelids and the stroke of a smooth hand down his face. "Okay?"

"That was...intense."

Squall shook his head once in understanding and then added a third finger. The discomfort was worse, but it was tampered by a throbbing anticipation. He wanted to feel _that_ again. Not from fingers. He wanted Squall's cock to do that to him.

There were so many sensations: the feeling of warm, slick liquid sliding out of him and onto the sheets, the feeling of knuckles grazing and pushing against skin no one had ever touched before. Control of his own body was long, long gone.

"Please, do it. Do it. I want it. In me..."

Suddenly there was the empty, abandoned feeling of the fingers leaving his body. He whimpered in disappointment and then in need. Finally, the head of Squall's cock came to rest against him and then Squall was whispering instructions in his ear—something about bearing down, about telling Squall to stop when it was too much.

When the thick head pushed in, past, and through, Laguna wanted to back away to make what felt like ripping end. What had he been thinking wanting this? It _was_ too much. "Squall, it—"

"Wait, just wait," Squall panted back. It was obvious from the way his body shook that holding back and going slow took all his self-control.

Squall slid a little further in, but not too far. Still, Laguna could feel it, the sudden shift of pain to something else entirely.

"It's...it's...oh my...Squall, you're..."

"Are you hurt?" Squall gasped out in a strained voice that implied that even if Laguna wasn't, he was. That, plus the way he stopped moving suddenly, was a giveaway to Laguna that something was afoot.

"No, it...nnng...feels good" he said and adjusted his hips a little, slyly trying to move that rigid heat deeper into his body. "Are _you_ okay?"

"Nn-nnng, don't _do_ that. I'll be fine. Just...don't move," Squall ordered.

"What, like this?" Laguna asked and rolled his hips so that Squall slid just a little further in.

"Nnng! Ah! Ahh. Stop, I'm gonna c-c...stop. Please."

Laguna felt a smug curl to his lips begin and didn't fight to hide it. After all, Squall had been causing him similar troubles all night. "You're that close?" he tried to ask without taunting.

"Yes."

"You know, this used to work when I was young and randy—" Laguna started to explain.

" _When_ you were young and randy? _When?"  Squall_ interrupted.

"Respect your elders, boy. And if you want this to last longer than five minutes, try to think about something boring."

Squall looked as if he might insult him before another expression—one that might as well have said 'Oh, why the hell not?'—flitted across his features. There were several long minutes when neither man spoke. The only sounds in the room were those of their breathing—heavy and labored but not as frantic as a moment before.

"What are you thinking about?" Laguna asked.

"The payroll," Squall admitted with a rare smile. "You?"

"The budget report," Laguna answered. He waited a beat before asking, "Um...Can I move now? I hate to be a pest, but the thing is that you feel really, really good and I want more. I want to know what it feels like to have you inside me. All the way inside me. Can you give that to me, Squall, or is this old man still too much for you?"

"Laguna," Squall growled, "shut up," and then he thrust his hips forward.

Laguna felt himself shatter into a million pieces and then pull back together with every nerve, every feeling focused on where Squall entered and filled him. When his senses came back to him, he was amazed to find he was still in the game.

"Are you okay?" Squall asked.

"Yeah," Laguna panted and then added, almost as an afterthought, "do that again."

So Squall obliged him with one long, tortuously slow thrust followed by a short, powerful one. He continued the pattern and did it so well that Laguna thought he was going to scream in frustration. It was just what he wanted, it wasn't enough, it was too much, it was too fast, no! faster, faster, no more, more, harder, deeper, _there_.

"Fuck, Squall," Laguna cried when every single thrust hit that spot inside him that made dots of white explode before his eyes.

"Stay with me," Squall panted back and then scooped Laguna's legs over his arms, opening him wider and changing the angle of his thrusts to one that was even more intense.

"Oh, don't do that! S'good...it's t-too," Laguna tried to say and then had to stop when his teeth clattered together painfully. If letters could have spelled themselves clearly into appropriate words in his mind, they would have spelled things like 'ram' and 'thrust' and 'clench' and 'filled'. But words and letters and anything above the primal wants and needs escaped him. All he was now was any nerve or atom of his body where Squall touched or invaded with hot, even, steady strokes.

Impossibly, Squall was fucking him harder now and his beautiful perk of a bed was shaking like an earthquake. All the muscles in Squall's thighs were bunching, working like machines to piston his cock in and out of the heat beneath him. Laguna was close. He opened his eyes and stared through the haze of sex and lust. Squall was biting his lip and sweat had spiked the ends of his hair. The noises he made—salvaged from the buried caveman genes civilization had smoothed over—were so fitting for a man called "The Lion of Balamb." He was growling in time with the movements of his body.

Everything was building inside Laguna at peaks and crests. When Squall entered, he claimed, sheathing himself in and out, over and over and over, and that place was hot, glowing, spreading the fire taking over bringing him to the brink pushing lifting dragging taking taking being owned.

Laguna's hands couldn't hold still. One minute they clung to Squall's shoulders and ass, holding him inside him and feeling it deep and long. Then the next they flailed out to the side and clutched at the blankets. He felt like a complete loser for even thinking it, but a part of him wanted to raise a hand to his mouth and bite down on the knuckle to keep from embarrassing himself with another horror movie scream. He started the motion, but Squall stopped him halfway.

"No," he panted. "I want to hear you. Scream for me."

And somehow or another, that did it. The fire leapt and Laguna's body went taught, arched, like a string stretched from his bellybutton to the ceiling, holding him up. Squall's fingers dug into his lower back and he thrust in harder than ever once, twice, then a series of fast and shallow before he dove in to the hilt and stayed there, emptying himself into Laguna as Laguna emptied himself messily onto his stomach and Squall's stomach.

The scream was...pretty embarrassing. Luckily, the top of his head must have blown off so he could die happy now without having to face the memory.

He thought hard for a minute and realized he couldn't remember his name. Wow, having the top of your head blow off during an orgasm must be pretty damaging, he realized.

Squall was thoughtful enough that he didn't crash down on top of him, but went to the side. He reached for his father immediately, though, and there was a weightless tumbling that ended with Laguna using Squall like a mattress, wedged between his legs like Squall had been between his. The two of them were struggling to breathe, but they kissed despite the difficulties.

And Laguna, true to form, took the silence to talk. "Th-Thank you. It was good. I like—I like..."

"Shhh..."

"Mmmmmmmm."

Squall's hands held Laguna's hips against his own and Laguna wondered for a moment what it would be like to be joined together always, to forever feel this movie-perfect glow. Or...er... _afterglow_ , his mind supplied.

"Do you think...?" Laguna tried to ask.

"Shhh..." Squall repeated.

Laguna frowned. Okay, the sex was great. Amazing. But really, he was beginning to suspect that they had a communication problem.

At least they understood each other in really important ways, he thought consolingly. For example...

"You shouldn't do that if you're too sore for another go," Squall murmured but his body obviously liked it. Laguna lifted his head to stop kitten licking a taut Commander nipple. He chuckled to himself, half crazed. If that were the case, he had just gotten fucked by Commander cock.

Squall frowned down at him when the chuckles went high-pitched.

"You're not going insane, are you?"

"Maybe I am," Laguna answered and returned to licking away. He'd wanted to do this for _weeks_. Eventually, Squall really did make him stop with a grunt and a "Come here."

Spring came early, rainbows seemed to shoot across the nighttime sky. Squall was kissing him and clichés were okay by him.

They kissed themselves to sleep—the last one Laguna managed being more of a drag of his lips across the salty skin above Squall's heart than anything else. Then he fell into a deep sleep. And this time, he didn't dream of Squall since the real thing was in his arms. Squall was much better in real life anyway, he decided. More handsome, too.

To Be Continued

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a bad habit of writing Laguna just a little crazed at times.


End file.
